Page 94 of Haunted Spurs

I position my index and middle fingers right over her clit. I press down without moving them. I hold the contact against her wet, burning skin, applying just enough pressure so she feels that I'm right there.

But... I don't move. I don't rub.

Selene moans softly and tries to roll her hips forward, chasing the friction.

I pull my hand back a millimeter, denying her again.

"No, little Selly," I whisper, looking her in the eyes. "First, you have to admit out loud that you only get wet for me."

"Ron... move," she protests in a wet whine, twisting her fingers into my shirt to pull me against her.

"I can't stand hearing you talk about other men."

She parts her lips, her dark eyes burning with lust and irritation. "What about other women, then?" she taunts me, incapable of surrendering.

Fuck.

"I can't stand hearing you talk about anyone," I growl under my breath, pressing my fingers against her center again, harder this time, ripping a fractured gasp from her lips. "We just agreed we're exclusive."

Selene lets out a soft little giggle. A raspy, wet laugh, drenched in lust.

Fucking insolent little brat.

"Does that make you laugh?" I murmur.

I slide my middle finger inside her, all the way to the second knuckle. The welcome is devastating. She is so tight and soaked that my mind short-circuits for a second.

Selene stops laughing. Her eyes roll back for a fraction of a second and her nails dig into my shoulders.

"Ron..." she gasps.

"Say it," I order her. My thumb slides upward, finding the hard little bud of her clit, and I start moving it in a circle, applying steady pressure. I match the movement with the finger filling her, plunging in and pulling back in a rhythm calibrated to torture her and make her lose her mind. "Say it."

Her knees buckle, but I hold her steady. She clings to my t-shirt, her breathing ragged, her eyelids fluttering. She's a millimeter away from breaking.

But suddenly, her dark eyes snap open and lock onto mine. Lust is mixed with a fierce, untamable stubbornness.

"Not a chance in hell, Willers," she pants, her voice husky but full of challenge. "You're going to have to work harder than that."

Christ. I love that she's so stubborn.

That she provokes me, that she doesn't cave instantly, that she forces me to bring out a side of myself I didn't even know I had.

Well... I promised her she'd get everything from me. If the Queen of Darkness wants to play, then we'll play.

I stop moving. With a sharp snap, I pull my hand out from under her dress, slipping my fingers out of her soaked core, suddenly depriving her of all the friction and heat.

She gasps, blinking, and immediately looks at me, displeased, almost disoriented by the sudden emptiness.

I, on the other hand, smile placidly. I take a full step back, pulling my hips away from hers.

"W-what are you doing?" she stammers, her eyes wide. Her chest rises and falls frantically beneath the black velvet. "Are you really backing out?"

I bring my index and middle fingers, slick and soaked with her juices, to my lips. I stick my tongue out and lick them, tasting her.

She is... delicious. A sweet, tart, intoxicating taste. Fucking liquid heaven.

I watch her eyes widen massively. Her lips part in a perfect "O" of pure shock and arousal. Her knees are visibly trembling.